ST. DUNSTAN AND THE DEVIL.

N days of yore, when saints were plenty (For each one now, you'd then find twenty,) In Glaston's fruitful vale Saint Dunstan had his dwelling snug Warm as that inmate of a rug Named in no polished tale

The holy man, when not employed At prayers or meals, to work enjoyed With anvil, forge, and sledge These he provided in his cell With saintly furniture as well; So chroniclers allege

The peaceful mattock, ploughshare, spade Sickle, and pruning-hook he made Eschewing martial labours Thus bees will rather honey bring Than hurtfully employ their sting In warfare for their neighbours

A cheerful saint too, oft would he Mellow old Time with minstrelsy,— But such as gave no scandal; Than his was never harp more famed; For Dunstan was the blacksmith named Harmonious by Handel

And when with tuneful voice he sang His well-strung harp's melodious twang Accompaniment lending; So sweetly wedded were the twain The chords flowed mingled with the strain Mellifluently blending

Now 'tis well known mankind's great foe Oft lurks and wanders to and fro In bailiwicks and shires; Scattering broad-cast his mischief-seeds Planting the germs of wicked deeds Choking fair shoots with poisonous weeds Till goodness nigh expires

Well, so it chanced, this tramping vagrant Intent on villanies most flagrant Ranged by Saint Dunstan's gate; And hearing music so delicious Like hooded snake, his spleen malicious Swelled up with envious hate

Thought Nick, I'll make his harp a fool; I'll push him from his music-stool; Then, skulking near the saint The vilest jars Nick loudly sounded Of brayings, neighings, screams compounded; How the musician's ears were wounded Not Hogarth e'en could paint

The devil fancied it rare fun "Well! don't you like my second, Dun? Two parts sound better sure than one," Said he, with queer grimace: "Come sing away, indeed you shall; Strike up a spicy madrigal And hear me do the bass."

This chaffing Dunstan could not brook His clenched fist, his crabbed look Betrayed his irritation 'Twas nuts for Nick's derisive jaw Who fairly chuckled when he saw The placid saint's vexation

"Au revoir, friend, adieu till noon; Just now you are rather out of tune Your visage is too sharp; Your ear perhaps a trifle flat: When I return, 'All round my hat' We'll have upon the harp."

A tale, I know, has gone about That Dunstan twinged him by the snout With pincers hotly glowing; Levying, by fieri facias tweak A diabolic screech and squeak No tender mercy showing

But antiquarians the most curious Reject that vulgar tale as spurious; His reverence, say they Instead of giving nose a pull Resolved on vengeance just and full Upon some future day

Dunstan the saying called to mind "The devil through his paw behind Alone shall penal torture find From iron, lead, or steel." Achilles thus had been eternal Thanks to his baptism infernal But for his mortal heel

And so the saint, by wisdom guided To fix old Clootie's hoof decided With horse-shoe of real metal And iron nails quite unmistakable; For Dunstan, now become implacable Resolved Nick's hash to settle

Satan, of this without forewarning Worse luck for him! the following morning With simper sauntered in; Squinted at what the saint was doing But never smoked the mischief brewing Putting his foot in't; soon the shoeing Did holy smith begin

Oh! 'twas worth coin to see him seize That ugly leg, and 'twixt his knees Firmly the pastern grasp The shoe he tried on, burning hot His tools all handy he had got Hammer, and nails, and rasp

A startled stare the devil lent Much wondering what St. Dunstan meant This preluding to follow But the first nail from hammer's stroke Full soon Nick's silent wonder broke For his shrill scream might then have woke The sleepiest of Sleepy Hollow

And distant Echo heard the sound Vexing the hills for leagues around But answer would not render She may not thus her lips profane: So Shadow, fearful of a stain Avoids the black offender

The saint no pity had on Nick But drove long nails right through the quick; Louder shrieked he, and faster Dunstan cared not; his bitter grin Without mistake, showed Father Sin He had found a ruthless master

And having driven, clenched, and filed The saint reviewed his work, and smiled With cruel satisfaction; And jeering said, "Pray, ere you go Dance me the pas seul named 'Jim Crow,' With your most graceful action."

To tell how Horny yelled and cried And all the artful tricks he tried To ease his tribulations Would more than fill a bigger book Than ever author undertook Since the Book of Lamentations

His tail's short, quick, convulsive coils Told of more pain than all Job's boils When Satan brought, with subtle toils Job's patience to the scratch For sympathetic tortures spread From hoof to tail, from tail to head: All did the anguish catch

And yet, though seemed this sharp correction Stereotyped in Satan's recollection As in his smarting hocks; Not until he the following deed Had signed and sealed, St. Dunstan freed The vagabond from stocks

The horse-shoe now saves keel, and roof From visits of this rover's hoof The emblem seen preventing He recks the bond, but more the pain The nails went so against the grain The rasp was so tormenting

He will not through Granāda march For there he knows the horse-shoe arch At every gate attends him Nor partridges can he digest Since the dire horse-shoe on the breast Most grievously offends him

The name of Smith he cannot bear; Smith Payne he'll curse, and foully swear At Smith of Pennsylvania With looks so wild about the face; Monro called in, pronounced the case Clear antismithymania;

And duly certified that Nick Should be confined as lunatic Fit subject for commission But who the deuce would like to be The devil's person's committee? So kindred won't petition

Now, since the wicked fiend's at large Skippers, and housekeepers, I charge You all to heed my warning Over your threshold, on your mast Be sure the horse-shoe's well nailed fast Protecting and adorning

Here note, if humourists by trade On waistcoat had the shoe displayed Lampoon's sour spirit might be laid And cease its spiteful railing Whether the humour chanced to be Joke, pun, quaint ballad, repartee Slang, or bad spelling, we should see Good humour still prevailing

And oh! if Equity, as well As Nisi Prius, would not sell Reason's perfection ever To wrangling suitors sans horse-shoe Lawyers would soon have nought to do Their subtle efforts ceasing too Reason from right to sever

While Meux the symbol wears, tant mieux Repelling sinful aid to brew His liquid strains XX; Still, I advise, strong drinks beware No horse-shoe thwarts the devil there Or demon-mischief checks

And let me rede you, Mr. Barry Not all your arms of John, Dick, Harry Plantagenet, or Tudor; Nor your projections, or your niches Affluent of crowns and sculptile riches Will scare the foul intruder

He'll care not for your harp a whistle Nor lion, horse, rose, shamrock, thistle Horn'd head, or Honi soit; Nor puppy-griffs, though doubtless meant Young senators to represent Like Samson, armed with jaw

Only consult your sober senses And ponder well the consequences If in some moment evil The old sinner should take Speaker's chair Make Black Rod fetch the nobles there And with them play the devil!

Then do not fail, great architect Assembled wisdom to protect From Satan's visitation With horse-shoe fortify each gate Each lion's paw; and then the State Is safe from ruination